


Not even death can get me away from you

by Space_turtle



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Found Family, General insanity, Its not as sad as the tags make it out to be, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_turtle/pseuds/Space_turtle
Summary: The Zombie Apocalypse had just started and Simmons was already dead. He really thought he was better than this. All he could really do now was wait to turn. He really hopes that if he ever makes it out of here, no one has touched the two-week food supplies he had set up.Fuck...Grif is lost, confused, and is going insane. He had a plan dammit! If he could have just gotten to Alaska with his sister he wouldn't have to be running for his life, alone, from a hoard of zombies.This is why Grif never makes plans.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Here there be zombies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have got to be kidding me

Simmons was at work when it happened. There were no news reports, no military assistance, no warning insight. It just happened. One minute he's helping a customer, the next, a body was being thrown through the window of the shitty convenient store where he worked. It was traumatic, to say the least.

He didn't really have much time to react; all he could think to do was duck. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick _enough_ because a shard of glass dug itself straight into his left eye. He stumbled back as the body of a disfigured man lunged forward and grabbed the customer. She screamed as the man ripped into her throat. Simmons wanted to gag as frigid horror struck him. That same customer immediately launched herself towards him, sinking her teeth into his arm. Simmons kicked her off, but the damage had been done. His new blind spot was not helping as the man started to _pull_ on his arm.

Simmons felt his mussels and arteries tear like string, his flesh peeling off like a glove. The pain is what he would describe as unimaginable before he had experienced it first hand. His vision went white as adrenaline pumped through him. For a moment, he couldn't feel the pain of his arm being torn off, and he kicked the man with his prosthetic leg. His mind overtaken by his fight or flight instinct, Simmons ran to the nearest door and locked it. His arm dangling, only being held together by his dislocated shoulder and bone with a few pieces of mussel still stuck together.

Simmons collapsed, overtaken by the sudden dizziness of massive blood loss and pain. He felt his arm throb as blood continued to pump out of him. He looked up to see the disfigured man's face and the glass ridden women pounding at the glass that separated them. Apparently, the door Simmons escaped through just lead him to the front desk. The store owner had installed glass to separate customers and employees working at the cash register after too many robberies. 

Over the existential horror of death and the incredible pain he was in, Simmons was honestly disappointed in himself.

The Zombie Apocalypse had just started, and he was already dead. Simmons really thought he was better than this. All he could really do now was wait to turn. He really hopes that if he ever makes it out of here, no one has touched the two-week food supplies he had set up just for situations like this. 

Well, he lived as he was dying. Sad and undignified.

Fuck.

* * *

6 months later...

* * *

The thought, 'This sucks,' followed Grif around his whole life. It was like a fly that would always land on his head, constantly buzzing, but he could never seem to kill it. It only got worse when the Apocalypse fucking started out of nowhere.

At first, Grif was ready. When he saw people getting mauled on the street, he packed his bags, threw his sister, some blankets, and food in the car, and took off. 

His zombie plan was simple. Move to Alaska. The zombies would just freeze before they got to him. He'd have a kingdom of zombsicles, and he could lazy around a warm fire till he died.

Unfortunately, his sister's horniness and a general need for social contact got the better of her, and she took off with a group that called themselves "Citizens of Chorus." They wanted to set up a settlement in a small city with a low zombie population. Kai wanted to dump the Alaska plan and stay with them. But Grif is stubborn. 

They ended up fighting about it for like a week until Grif eventually gave in and let her go. Though she was still pissed, listen, under any other circumstances, Grif would have dragged her kicking and screaming to Alaska. But they were getting low on food, and the Chorus kids had plenty of it. Not to mention a shit ton of weapons. Grif genuinely felt like she would be safe with them. Plus, they all seem like they could handle her.

Why didn't Grif go with them? 

It was in the heat of the moment. He was mad, but when he went back to find them a few days later, they were gone. And now, 2 months later, he's **_still_** looking for them. 

He is so fucking lost.

Being left alone with your own thoughts for 2 months is something that really sucks. He tried keeping himself focused on trying to find Kai or finding a place to sleep. But when those didn't work, Grif would give himself a task. Right now, it was to find Boner street. ~~He also would sometimes talk to a volleyball with yellow paint on it.~~

Grif sighed. He needed more gas for _The Puma_ , his car. He had noticed a city in the distance. Nice.

As Grif pulled into the city, he noticed a lack of zombies. And let him tell you Grif was not about to question some good fortune when he saw it. Maybe he can get some extra lazy points in today.

Pulling over to a shitty convenient store, Grif opened up his trunk and pulled out a red gas can. This thing needed refilling too. 

The window and door had been boarded up, so Grif grabbed his pistol too. If the windows were boarded, that means someone could be using the store as a base. The door opened without issue. It was quiet ~~, too quiet.~~

"Hello? Just here to use the gas tank! Also, someone emptied out your Slurpee machine! Might wanna get that filled" Grif wandered into the store, no reply. 

There didn't seem to be anyone around, and the food was still stocked. The raiders mustn't have gotten to it yet. It really was Grif's lucky day. However, he noticed that there weren't any hotdog machines around.

"Man, what kind of gas station doesn't have hotdogs?" Grif said as he walked over to the bathrooms. Grif opened the door to the men's bathroom.

He coughs, "Whoo! Jesus, it smells like somebody died in.....here....." A corps was there lying on the floor. It was mangled with its neck twisted backward and a broken arm grasping at the sky. 

"I guess I know who's base this was..."

Flys clung to it.

* * *

Grif slammed the bathroom door shut. Yep, time add another memory to the 'many dead people' list that had skyrocketed since the apocalypse.

The women's bathroom was clear, so Grif just switched the signs.

Grif stood in the middle of the store. "I think I literally just hit the jackpot with this place." It had _unexpired_ food, and although Grif wasn't picky when it came to meals, he did miss fresh food. Lady luck was on his side of the mountain, or however, that expression goes. 

Momentarily forgetting about the gas, Grif walked to his car and grabbed his bag of clothes and some blankets. He was calling dibs on this place. He was gonna chill here for like a week. Tossing his stuff on the floor and feeling accomplished is when Grif heard _it_.

_Footsteps. Lots of them._

Grif scrambled to the door. 'Oh, fuckberries' was all Grif could think of when coming face-to-face with a hoard of zombies. 

They shambled closer with their mouths agape and their broken limbs. It was like watching a silent parade of a painful death, and it was looking right at him.

' _How did I not see them? Where did they-How did they-?'_ Grif's mind became muddled with his panicked thoughts. He was _just_ outside. Grif grabbed his pistol and shot the stronger looking ones down. Praying that maybe, just maybe, he could make it out alive.

Grif shut and locked the door. He started pushing the shelves that weren't bolted down. The mob rammed against the door, and the wood of the window shook with their assault. Grif pushed hard against the shelf that held the door closed. He felt hot tears pool in his eyes. "Fuck I'm not ready to die!" he shouted. Grif shoved his pistol through the mail slot and started shooting. It did something to help because the pounding was lessened, but it just wouldn't stop. Grif reached for another mag when--His ammo was in his car. He was always in his car, so he never had to pack extra ammo. Fuck.

Grif scoured his brain for an idea, _anything._ Part of him that just wanted to stop. Take the easy way out and let the hoard eat him-- No, no, nononononono--KAI think of Kai.

That's when Grif spotted it. He grinned. Maybe this wasn't the end.

He grabbed 2 bottles of alcohol and pulled out his lighter. He ripped off the bandana he had been using to keep his hair back and tore it in half. 

Grif grabbed the shelf he had been using to hold the door and knocked off all of its content before swinging open the door and shoving out into the hoard of zombies. And threw bolth bombs into the hoard before quickly shutting the door.

Eat Molotov cocktail, you rotting sons of bitches!

What?! He just needed to get rid of the mob, not get torn apart while trying. The sound of zombie screams was awful, but better them than him.

Thankfully the store was not lit on fire, and the remaining zombies weren't strong enough to break the door or window.

Besides, even if he had made it to his car, he still didn't have any gas or ammo. Plus, there wasn't enough food in his car to last him a week. He was stuck.

Well, there were worse places to get stranded at. 

Grif pushed his back against a wall and slid down to the floor. Man, he really wanted to be in a log cabin right now. 

* * *

Grif looked up to see the face of a zombie staring at him through the glass of the counter. Grif let out an undignified yelp at the sight. It seemed to realize Grif had noticed it as it stood up and started pounding on the glass. It looked hangry. Though the pounding quickly stopped, and it sat back down. Like it knew it couldn't break the glass.

The thing only had one arm, the other one lying on the floor behind it, and its left eye was almost completely black except for the iris, which was a bright green color.

Under normal circumstances, Grif would have just shot the damn thing and moved on; unfortunately for him, he was completely out of ammo. 

Grif laughed nervously. "I guess we're roommates..." 

How fucking low was his sanity at this point to A) Not notice a fucking hoard and B) not notice the zombie just chilling at the front counter.

Christ, he was going to fucking die here.


	2. Its alive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the name tag Grif, it's there for a reason. Also, chips are a good way to bond with your undead roommate.

It only took Grif 3 days to start _officially_ talking to the zombie. Not like he wasn't before, but now he was actually admitting it. 

Everything is awful, and that _zombie_ just made it worse. All it did was stare. Watching. Waiting. Grif knew that damn thing wanted to eat him, but in the 3 days, Grif was forced to hang out with it. The zombie actually seemed.... _smart_.

No, it didn't start talking back or jiggling doorknobs, but it just did certain things that felt...off, like how hangery it looked. The only 'emotion' Grif ever saw on a zombie was a mouth gaped and drooling, not furrowed-eyed with a glare. Though he thinks it's still drooling, considering it sometimes swallows. That's right; it _swallows_ like it cares if it gets drool everywhere.

Other than the whole undead roommate situation, Grif's little camp was going pretty well. He had his bed set up with a pillow and lantern next to it. Not to mention plenty of food. And his attempts to ignore the _other_ rotting corps living in his bathroom were going well. Unfortunately, he ran out of things to do very quickly, considering he couldn't continue his mission to find his sister or find the legendary Boner street. ~~Plus, the volleyball was still in the car.~~ So, Grif had restored to talking with his undead roommate. On purpose this time. He doesn't count the first few time because technically, he was talking to himself. 

"And then my sister just straight up ditches me to hang out with some overpowered music kids, and now I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere trying to fight a bunch of zombies!" Grif grumbled. His tangent had started with him explaining his zombie plan, and well....you know the rest.

Grif was lying on his self-made bed; he rolls off his back and sits up.

"What your name, by the way? I mean, I know you can't answer me, so I guess I can give you one."

"How about...Andersmith! No, I won't remember that. Andy? No, that's too basic...... Gus! It's short and easy to remember!" Grif smiled at 'Gus.'

'Gus' looked incredibly unimpressed and pointed at his chest-- or name tag? It looked like a motion it had done a hundred times before. Grif stood up and walked over to the counter.

The tag read, "Simons? Oh! Simmons, Richard Simmons! Ha- You look like a Dick." Grif laughed at his own joke. "I'll call you Simmons. Trust me; I know what it's like to be given a shitty first name." Grif turned back around to lay on his bed. Oblivious to the confused state he left his zombie roommate in.

_'Richard Simmons? That was him? Simmons?'_ It felt important, like something he should have never forgotten in the first place.

"Seriously, who names their kid _Dexter_ \--"

* * *

When Grif’s monologue ended, he saw Simmons doing something _weird_. For once, the thing wasn't staring at him; it was staring at its name tag. Grif didn't even think it could figure out how to get it off. Though based on the wrinkles in its shirt, it looked like it took a couple of tries.

It looked confused and...frustrated? Like it was trying to remember something.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

It startled back. The chair it was sitting in fell over, taking Simmons down with it. Simmons made some sort of gurgled surprised noise. When he-it sat up, it hissed at Grif. Then it propped the chair back up and went back to staring at Grif, a little more angry in the hangery. Grif was just surprised that _he_ could even startle a zombie of all things.

"That's new..." Grif said uncomfortably. "I'm gonna...go use the bathroom..." Grif finds it easier just to ignore any and all of everything.

As Grif fled, Simmons went back to contemplating his name. After all this time, Simmons hadn't questioned why he was here. He just was. But now...He didn't even know he had a name until he heard it. Why did he forget something so important in the first place? Why couldn't he remember anything? Why was he feeling this way? He was- confused. And hungry.

Simmons wished he could figure out how to get out of this cage. When the first guy came, Simmons would bang on the glass non-stop; all he could think about was how hungry he was. But when his arm finally came completely off after ramming the glass too hard, something just clicked. That no mattered how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to get out like that. It was the first thought he had when he stopped focusing on how hungry he was. And when that visitor came in and killed his unattainable meal, Simmons had to _do_ something. It felt wrong to sit there and do nothing.

He didn't want to go after the guy, but he had to have come from somewhere that wasn't here. And he really didn't like being here. He just had to get out of this cage before he could go there. He couldn't get out, though. So he spent most of his time messing with the register or playing with cigarettes. The cigarettes had a glass case of their own, but that had broken with one good hit with his chair, unlike the one that kept him trapped.

At least the new guy was semi-entertaining.

Simmons still wanted to eat him, so maybe he can be Simmons's first meal. Like a toast to his freedom. Plus, the guy was fat, so there would be plenty of him to save for later though he was really greasy. Simmons got a strong feeling that he didn't like grease very much. What was his name again? Right, Grif! Dexter Grif. He had only mentioned it a few hundred times during one of his most recent ramblings out of many. The ending part of that particular rambling came to mind. "And that's why I don't go by my first name anymore. It's Grif now! I'm a self-made man!" Simmons did like it when Grif talked. Well, sort of. Grif said a lot of things he _almost_ understood. Like Simmons knew that Hawaii was a place far from here, he didn't really understand what happened there. Or if people even lived there.

It all felt so brand new and nostalgic all at once. It was a little overwhelming. But he had to get out. He craved freedom. He wanted it more than he wanted to eat. But for now, he would just watch Grif do his thing. Maybe he could learn something from him, like how to break this glass cage.

~~Or why he was here.~~

* * *

When Grif emerged from the bathroom, he grabbed a bag of chips and plopped back down on his bed. One of the advantages of being trapped in a convenience store was the many snacks that were ready for the taking. 

Watching Grif eat only served to remind Simmons how hungry he was. Simmons turned around in his chair and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. He didn't really know what they did or what they were for, but he needed something to take his mind off of the unbearable hunger he felt all hours of the day. He turned back around and set the pack of cigarettes on the counter. Peeling off the paper was tedious, but it kept him busy. When Simmons first discovered cigarettes, he tried to eat them.

He doesn't recommend it. 

Grif looked up to see it playing with cigarettes. That's new. 

Grif thought about how long it had been since the last time he had a smoke. Ever since the apocalypse started, he had been _stressed_ , to say the least. Before, he would just turn to drinking or eating. Unfortunately, Molotov cocktails were the only weapon he had, and stress eating was tough when the smell of rotting flesh was everywhere. Grif didn't know if he should or _could_ ask for the cigarettes. Simmons seemed to understand him when he asked for its name, so maybe he's just not giving the thing enough credit. 

"Hey, Simmons!" Grif called from across the room. Simmons looked up from the now crushed cigarettes. "You wanna trade?" Grif waved his bag of chips, "I give you a chip, and you give me a cigarette." 

Simmons pursed his lips. He didn't actually care for the chips, but it was something new. Not to mention he had plenty of cigarettes.... eh fuck it. Simmons pulled out a fresh cigarette from the pack and slid it through the opening of the glass. Grif smirked, got up, took the cigarette, and slip the chip through.

Simmons looked at the chip, picking it up curiously before immediately breaking it in half.

Simmons looked up at Grif, panicked. As if asking with his eyes, _What did I do?_ Grif snorted and busted out laughing. Like an ass. Simmons's face turned bright red. Now, this was an emotion Simmons knew he had felt before. Embarrassment. Simmons covered his face with his one good arm and put his face down on the counter. This only managed to make Grif laugh even harder.

Simmons glared at Grif. Its blush reaching its ears. Simmons hissed at Grif. Grif clutched his stomach, wheezing. It was hard not to laugh at Simmons in a morbid sort of way. Seeing a zombie pout in embarrassment. Grif would have called it cute if it wasn't dead. 

Once Grif's laughter died down, he smiled at Simmons. It was a tired smile, Simmons noted.

"Dude, chill, you can still eat it," Grif said, amused. Simmons's blush had begun to fade as it picked up one half of the chip. Simmons took one last glance at Grif before eating the snack. Grif watched as a star-struck look formed on the zombie's face. Simmons snatched the other half of the chip like it would get away if it didn't. 

"How 'bout I give you a **full** bag of chips, and you give me a new pack of cigs," Grif wasn't sure if he should smoke something a zombie touched, so better safe than sorry. The look of pure delight practically beamed off of Simmons's face as it turned around to grab an unopened pack of cigarettes.

The thought of just grabbing Grif here and now had crossed Simmons's mind, but the idea of tearing someone's arm off didn't sit right with him. Not to mention Grif probably wouldn't give Simmons any more snacks. Now that would suck. 

Simmons slid the pack through the window and awaited his prize. Grif gave a small smirk as he gave up his half of the bargain. Simmons happily picked up the unopened bag of chips.

Everything was still for a moment. Grif stared at Simmons. Simmons stared at the chips. The realization hit them both like a freight train. 

Grif almost fell to the floor with laughter. Simmons's smile was hallow as he pulled the chips close to his chest. The stub of his left arm touching it. Grif looked like he was about to cry. Simmons looked like he was about to cry. Both for very different reasons. 

"hOLy sHiT," Grif began to cough before continuing, "You can't-you can't fucking open it." Grif wasn't sure he had laughed this much in months. Simmons's only response was a series of sad zombie noises. "Here-I got-I got it," Grif said. He put his hand _through the window_ to grab the chips. Simmons handed them back, albeit reluctantly. Grif didn't realize how he could have killed himself right then and there until after he had already opened and handed back the chips. 

As Simmons feasted on his snack, Grif walked back over to his pallet, contemplating his own mortality needed a cigarette.

Simmons watched Grif as he opened the pack and pulled... _something_ out of his pocket. A _lighter_ his brain supplied. He saw Grif use it the first day he got here. Grif had flicked it a few times before a small flame appeared and lit the cigarette. Simmons grimaced in disgust as Grif inhaled. Was Grif willingly breathing in trash? Did he know there was trash in there? Watching Grif destroy his lungs brought back that same nostalgic feeling. Simmons knew what a cigarette was and what they did. It felt like common knowledge he always knew.

So why? Why did he forget?

* * *

Grif felt _weird_. This whole thing with Simmons was _weird_. He had never seen a zombie act so...so _alive._ Like it wasn't a walking corpse but like a guy working at a shitty gas station. That whole interaction reminded him of Kai. Kai... How was he gonna get out of here anyway? It's not like he had a plan or anything. Not to mention a lack of weapons... 

Grif took a drag from his cigarette. He didn't want to think about this.

Grif just wanted to relax and take a nap.

* * *

Simmons watched Grif for the next few weeks. Most days, Grif would just sleep and smoke. Simmons had watched him do some strange things. Like attempting to inhale food or read this small book repeating words, Simmons didn't understand. It was usually entertaining, plus the chips really made Simmons think about whether Grif could even compete with the flavor. But right now, _this_ was the strangest thing he had done or was _doing_? 

Simmons was watching Grif sleep; he would play with cigarettes the most during this time. Grif had begun tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling the word, Kai. He shot up, his breathing erratic. It had startled Simmons; he was a bit disturbed. He was used to watching Grif sleep _still_. Simmons watched him, water coming out of his eyes. Crying, Grif was crying. He watched as Grif pulled his knees to his chest, his hands around his head, crying into his knees. 

Simmons didn't know what to do. Should he do something? 

The sobbing sounded almost painful. Maybe it was.

Was Grif dying? Was that why he was in pain? No, Grif couldn't die unless Simmons killed him. He needed his meal of freedom, after all. Grif needed to stay _alive_. 

_'Please, stay alive...'_

Grif sat there crying like some dumb kid. He hated this, crying, really? So what he had a dream about losing his sister forever? It was a _dream_ _!_

Kai was fine; she's with those overpowered band kids; she's fine. Grif let out a shaky breath. He sat there for a few moments, trying to calm down. 

A quite garbled coo came from the other side of the room. Grif's head shot up, making direct eye-contact with Simmons. Simmons didn't know when he stood up, pressing his palm against the glass. Simmons let out another soft worried sound. Grif's arms around his knees tightened as he glared at Simmons. 

"What are you looking at?" He spat. Grif hated the way that thing watched him, and what was with the face? It looked like it felt bad for him.

Simmons watched as Grif tensed up, large tears still pouring down his face. Simmons let out more worried coos. More persistent, more annoying. 

"AUGH! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Grif's voice wavered with the shout. A pillow hit the glass with a thump, catching on the desk.

Simmons's mouth snapped shut as he flinched, but his worried expression never left. 

They sat like that for a while. Grif's sobbing filled the room, with Simmons's soft coos only heard occasionally.

* * *

Grif did feel a bit better after crying and a little shouting.

He wanted to go back to bed and pretended like he didn't miss Kai. Grif laid down on his pallet, his arm searching around for his pillow. _His pillow._ Grif looked up to see his pillow across the room. Fuck. Grif sighed; he didn't need his pillow to fall asleep; he just wanted it to dry his tears and maybe hold it. Shut up. He wasn't lonely.

Grif dragged himself to the other side of the room. With his pillow insight, he reached out before being snatch out of his hand. Simmons had pulled the pillow halfway through the small window in the glass. Grif was more than ready to start yelling at the damn thing, but something made his voice catch in his throat. 

Simmons brows were knitted, his lips pursed, and eyes watery. He looked more sad than worried. Simmons let out another soft coo. It sounded almost pleading. 

Simmons didn't want Grif to die...unless he killed him, of course. But still seeing Grif so alone brought back that same feeling though it felt more like deja vu this time. A sense of hopelessness had pooled into his stomach when he watched Grif cry. 

Simmons sighed and let go of the pillow, closing his eyes and placing his forehead on the glass. The soft coos quietly stopping. Grif could only bring himself to stare.

Simmons looked _alive_. 

Grif wanted to chastise himself. _'_ _Of course, Simmons not alive, it's a thing, not a person!'_ But that's too much work.

Instead, Grif mirrored Simmons, placing his forehead on the glass. When Grif opened his eyes, he found Simmons looking back at him. 

And for a second, everything was fine, and it felt like nothing really mattered.

* * *

"Good night, Simmons," Grif said as he luged himself back to bed, pillow under his arm. Simmons let out an affirming sound as he got comfortable in his chair.

He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Grif couldn't tell you why he did, but no one else here was alive ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyee it's chapter two. Sorry for the late update, real-life got in the way.  
> Anyways, Suprise! Zombies can be sentient in this au yay!  
> I'm trying to have Grif call Simmons an "It" while Simmons just refers to Grif and himself as "He" I hope it doesn't get confusing.  
> The whole deja vu thing will be addressed next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda loosely based on boyfriend of the dead on webtoon  
> I have a lot of shit planned for this so I hope I can actually finish it  
> I edited the tags I think I'm just gonna focus on Grimmons relationship in this fic and then I'll make another about there shenanigans with the BGC


End file.
